“Just do it.” Trademark, evil shoe empire.
“Good things don’t come to those who wait. They come to those who work their asses off.” – Some douchy picture on Pinterest.
“Stop whining, asshat.” – Anyone on the Internets. Including me.
“Do or do not, there is no try.” – Yoda, Jedi Master. Ok, he’s above the snark.
Pick any of these and there’s an demotivational version I like better.
It’s guilting someone into doing something, look “HE has The Cancer, almost died 4 times and still saves puppies and orphans, while giving away all his worldly possessions.”
Makes me wonder who is really supporting the so-and so’s rock and roll lifestyle.
Cue the violins, Name that tune: Crappy Excuses in F minor
Well I have bills. And the most unreliable of a safety net (Me, Myself and I).
Easy to tell someone to make the time, suck it up. Are you gonna make my car payments while I continue the struggle? How about telling me to turn off the TV, get out of the movie theater? Great, I’ll be sure to thank you in my rampage note when I finally crack.
What I tell myself: “well if you’d stop blogging, drinking, breathing and other time wasters you’d find a real job.”
Then I remember: I have Job B, low-paying hard work that is as fucking real as it gets, a stopgap for which I am grateful. Trolling the want ads? Been there, done that; wasted so much time, carefully crafting brilliant-and-totally-ignored cover letters and resumes. Networked away any sliver of hope left in my soul, never finding that very, very well hidden job market. (Hell I’d settle for a decent map and decoder ring!)
Job A was going so-so until the market collapsed, and economy is still in the shitter no matter how rich the rich keep getting. Working at, I am. This little hobby is Job C, an outlet for whatever the fuck I want. An experiment, a work in progress excuse to learn WordPress.
Current Mood: Unmotivated. And then some.
When you can’t see past next week’s light bill, putting effort into your passion (napping? travel? someone wanna pay me to watch TV?) seems like an exercise in futility. You’re not getting ahead so WTF does it matter that you – gasp! – treat yourself to one bargain-basement vacay a year vs. ‘investing’ in yourself?
When you’ve been treading water and fighting quicksand all your life, seriously – “let me tell you to do it, not show you how” platitudes the lecture circuit gurus sell on the cheap – just piss me the hell off.